Dandelion Seeds
by Sara Darkotter
Summary: There was something he was told as a child by his mother, dandelion time, the number of attempts it took to blow all the seeds off the dandelion was the time. More seeds took flight.


My first attempt to write Tuna. Dedicated to Courture Girl, who started my love of it.

* * *

Month One

"_Mother, wake up! Wake up!"_

_Father's advancing footsteps._

"_She won't, boy... She won't ever, and it's all your fault!"_

_His father's wand pointed at him, he began screaming, everything hu-_

He was in a room of stone, screaming and sobbing.

"See, sir? He's dying. Might as well let him see the sun."

"Why? He's a Death Eater, a murderer, a cold kill-"

"His father, maybe, but all he does is lie here and sob through constant nightmares about something. Something about his mother."

"Are you trying to claim that he's a victim of circumstance or other bullshit?"

"Sir. He's twenty, and he looks like he's been here forty years. I have a son his age. And you know how much parents influence children?"

"Do tell me."

"Too damn much."

Theodore finally lifted his head, staring at them, was he dreaming? Had his father cursed him unconscious? There were two men, older, staring at him. Had Father sent them? He hadn't done anything wrong! He hadn't meant to kill Mother!

"He's awake! Lights out!"

Darkness as something stung in his arm.

He floated in darkness, blurs of voices speaking words that meant nothing. When it began to make sense, there was always another sting through his darkness, and it would pull him in deeper.

Theodore liked the darkness. He wanted to drown in it. To die.

…ø…

Luna played in a meadow. It was pretty, with lots of daisies and wild lilies and a willow tree in the center, dandelions with seed-head fuzz-she blew away every one in the light autumn breeze. The sun was mild, warm but not too warm, and she smiled up at it a moment. Then she reached down and picked the last daffodil of summer. It was time to go back to Hogwarts. She skipped down the path to town, jumping on dried leaves to hear the crackle. She touched down on the sidewalk at the edge of town, looking for a classmate to ride back wi-

An iron grip on her arm yanked her into an alley. She reacted a little too late and her wand was taken, thrown down the alleyway, a man with a Death Eater mask, he was tall and she could smell him, he smelled horrible, he pressed her against the wall with his body. She tried to scream, scared, and something cracked against her skull-

Luna played in a meadow. It was pretty...

_Month Two - Day 6_

A man was talking. "Do you want a photo, nurse? I signed it with joined-together writing!"

"No thank you, Mister Lockhart. I'm afraid you already gave me one. Last week."

Lockhart... He knew that name...

"Why don't you pin it above Theodore's bed? No, not there, that's his mother's picture."

"Does she want a signed photo?"

"No, she's a painting, Mister Lockhart."

"But paintings move!"

"She's dormant, Mister Lockhart. I must go collect your lunch, I'll be back very quickly. Why don't you answer this letter?"

The click of heels walking away.

His eyelids felt like lead, he wanted to sink back into the comforting darkness, let it consume him, but there was no sting. There was the warmth of good blankets settling a gentle weight on him. His eyelashes felt stuck together, but they finally cracked open,

The light was too bright and he winced as he closed the tiny gap again, He didn't want to wake, but the darkness wouldn't pull him. He opened his eyes wider.

The ceiling was painted yellow by someone determined to add cheer to the cracked plaster. And not just any yellow, sunshine yellow, and the walls were a dusty rose pink. It was a gaudy, two-color sunset, to which lives had been pinned. There were blurry photos on the walls in the edges of his vision. He blinked and a heavy hand eased up to scrub his eyes, sleep-gunk coming away on his fingers. Where was he? This wasn't Azkaban. It wasn't Hogwarts. It wasn't the manor. His head flopped to the side.

A small painting of his mother hung on the wall next to his bed. It was still, face in a permanent small frown, eyes fixed on his bed. Her forever youthful face seemed to have aged decades.

Photos of a blond man were everywhere, grinning vainly at everyone. Black and white, color, all signed in a rough cursive, disjointed signatures.

"Oh, hello, would you like a photo?"

It was the man, only greying, the slightest thinning of his hair. There was a quill in one hand and a picture in the other.

Gildroy Lockhart, his second-year Defense teacher, he remembered him as stupidly vain and an idiotic boaster, and then he'd suddenly gone away towards the end of the year. The only class he ever remembered was the one with the Cornish Pixies, one had snuck into his bag and ruined all his textbooks and escaped during Potions and Professor Snape almost gave him three months detention when it made a caldron explode and nearly kill half the class.

He shook his head. He didn't want anything from him.

Lockhart frowned and wandered away, and Theodore pushed himself from bed. He didn't stand, he fell on the floor, tile spelled soft like carpeting, smooth under his hands, cold to unused fingers.

"Here for a month and takes my photos but now he doesn't want one! Not fair!"

But where was here? A home? Was he dead in some strange purgatory? Was there a purgatory? Was there anything after death?

He's dying, they said. So was he dead?

Theodore didn't feel dead, heart pounding in his ribs, loose cotton tunic and trousers, cold blue patterned tile. But maybe he was fooling himself. He lifted a hand, made himself flex each finger, pulled down his sleeve.

Pale grey, obvious on skin, a snake-and-skull stared at him, mocked him, mocked the scars that traced his arm, torments from his father.

He shuddered and hid it again. Not the Dark Mark, He cared little about it. But the scars... The scars shamed him, reminded him of his father and his childhood and his mother's cooling body on the floor...

He struggled to his feet. It took several tries and he fell down again, then managed to take a step, and a step, the carpet-tile under his feet yielding just enough to let him balance. He held out his arms as he crossed the sunset room. There was a glass door, a lock in the handle, it looked shut but he wanted to try, he wanted to see where he was. There was no windows in this sunset room that he could see.

The door hadn't been shut all the way, a little half-inch away from being flush with the doorjamb. An aging woman with a distant look and a gum wrapper in her hand was toddling towards him and he carefully pulled the door, it stuck a little and then opened on silent hinges, He looked around and stepped into a hall. An afterthought, he closed the door tight so the woman wouldn't get out like he had.

The hall was empty, the tile solid and cold, voices drifting from other places. He walked down the hall, passing door after door, glass and solid and all with charts hanging outside, and then he passed a metal sign saying Mental Ward, pointing back the way he'd come.

So was he crazy? He didn't feel crazy. But didn't all crazy people think that? Did they? Or did some of them know they were crazy?

He didn't feel crazy. Just tired. He limped down stairs.

He passed different doors now, No more glass, all the same, no charts on the outside. All shut, except one ahead. He stopped in its doorway, hands on the frame to keep himself up.

A young woman on the bed, a peaceful smile on her face, blond tangled hair spread over the pillow. The sheets were smooth, unwrinkled, only the rise of her chest marking her rake-thin body as alive.

Was she leaving soon? She looked healthy, just thin. She was pretty, pale skin and pale hair and pink lips slightly parted in sleep, and he found his eyes wouldn't leave her.

"There he is! Lovegood's room! Get him, quick!"

His head whipped around quickly, ends of his hair stinging as they lashed his cheeks. A nurse and an auror, bearing down on him, he tried to move but he was so slow, he just stood and watched as they ran up to him, the auror grabbing his wrists, twisting them harshly behind his back.

"Trying to finish what your friend started, huh? Kill her on her hospital bed and run off? Answer me!" the auror hissed, twisting his arms even more.

Theodore had long been conditioned to not cry out at pain. Even so, he grimaced, eyes narrowing slightly, casting them down to the floor.

"Stop it! You're hurting him, and can't you see, he can barely walk!"

"Of course I'm hurting him, he deserves it! He's Death Eater sh-"

"Don't. You. Dare. Let him go right now! He didn't try to run, he's not done anything! I'll take him back and put him under again."

His eyes widened slightly at the thought of the warm darkness, cradling him, like a strange mother...

"You know I'll tell the Head. He's getting better, we'll take him back to Azkaban."

"For four months? There's no point, then what will you do? Take him out back and put him down like when the family dog gets rabid? He's a boy!"

"At least we won't waste Ministry money on that hospital bed!"

"At least we won't waste Ministry money on that cell!" The nurse gently took Theodore's arm. They had argued around him like he wasn't even there. Like he was a toy two children both wanted.

"Let's go, Theodore. You shouldn't have been up," the nurse said. She was greying, frown and laugh-lines sharing space, the laugh-lines faded.

He said nothing and followed her back up, sitting down on the bed and pulling the blankets over himself. She smiled at his obedience.

If he obeyed his father, the training hurt less. It applied here, he was sure. Obey, and everything hurt less. Rebel, and you will beg to deities you don't know to strike you dead.

She expertly pressed a thumb to his skin, his veins standing out a little clearer in his thin skin, a hollow needle stinging as it slipped into his skin. "See, you're doing so well. Just sleep, and if you wake, wait for a nurse. Be good," she said. His eyes slid shut, her words becoming meaningless as Mother Darkness rocked him again.

…ø…

Luna heard a distant voice on the breeze as she smiled at the sun. Then another. Somewhere, two people were talking, and she had a passing feeling she shouldn't go back to Hogsmead, not yet. But that was silly, she needed to go back to school. She picked the last daffodil of summer.

Day 12

"Theodore's missed his dosage, make sure he gets it in the next half-hour, can't have him wandering around."

"And if he does, what if he goes to-"

"It contains an amnesiac, as long as he's not up too long he won't remember what happened when he was last awake."

"Yes, ma'am. Good night!"

The click of heels.

"Does Theodore need medicine?"

"Yes, Mister Lockhart."

"Why? Healer Molly says it makes him forget."

"Be-Becau-Oh, I can't do it now, he looks so peaceful... Would you like your sleeping potion now, Mister Lockhart? Lights out in an hour, you can finish your fan-mail."

"Oh, yes, please. It's funny, I feel tired a lot earlier now, I didn't used to-did I?"

"You probably didn't. Drink it up. I'll see you tomorrow!"

Quiet, snores, the soft click of heels trying to be silent.

Where was he? The darkness had been nice, like a mother, a strange mother, but there was no sting to take him back. His eyelids were heavy. He opened them slowly.

The room was lit by soft candlelight, harsh against his eyes a moment. He blinked.

The ceiling above him ran with cracks, painted a golden yellow that seemed gentle by the light, walls a deep pink. There were photos on the wall, all a blond man with a vain smile, so many different backgrounds.

He frowned. This felt familiar. The other woman had said amnesiac - he was forgetting? He'd been awake before? Had he done something? How had he gotten here?

Confusion welled in him, To know he'd been awake but not remember, that he could have done anything, was odd and a bit terrifying.

"No more sweets, Alice. Time for bed - oh, we're all out... I'll come back in a moment, and then I'll read to you. Go pick a book!"

Click, click, click, heels on the floor, a door opening. It shut and he slowly sat up. He'd gone to visit something, before. When was that? How long had he been here, lain in this bed? How many times had he woken? His limbs shook with fear of the unknowns that could have happened. The blankets were good, warm, heavy, he shoved them aside and let his feet touch the floor. It looked like tile, but felt softer, a spell. He crossed the floor, only a few stumbles.

The door was locked. It was locked. He wanted out, he was trapped, he wanted out! He jerked on the handle, it didn't move. He stared at his reflection, counting his breaths.

He was ragged. Dark brown hair hung lanky to his shoulders, fringe brushing his cheeks, tucked out of his eyes by someone's hands. Scruff on his chin. He looked thin, pinched, sunless-pale skin stretched tight. He twisted his head - it was still there, a thick scar traveling up the side of his neck to behind his ear, to the base, A jagged cut that had left the ear almost deaf.

He tried the door again, then saw a shadow, backed away.

An old woman gently petted his hair. She must have been Alice. She smiled and held out a sweet wrapper. Her hand was gentle, comforting as the darkness, and he took the wrapper. It crinkled quiet in his grip.

The door opened, a middle-aged woman opening it, he took his chance and ran, shoving past her. He didn't know where to go, he ran down the hall, bare feet slapping cold tile, scrambling down stairs, he remembered these stairs, a room was close...

There was an open door, he remembered. None of them were open. Confused, he wandered down the hall, looking, pushing open doors, trying to find-he didn't know...

The room was numbered fifty-eight, he held the door and stared at her.

She was pretty by daylight, and beautiful by moonlight, he wanted to go to her but his feet wouldn't move, he was so nervous...

She was lying in the same position, still only the rise of her chest, the sheets unwrinkled. A hand lay outside the covers, abandoned.

"Theodore! You shouldn't be up!" A hand on his shoulder. "If the Aurors find out you were up you'll go right back to Azkaban!"

He looked at the woman, met brown eyes. Then he looked at the girl again. And back, trying to ask without words.

The nurse sighed. "She was attacked by someone two years ago in Hogsmead and been comatose since. She'll never wake up. Such a waste of a life..."

Theodore held out the sweet wrapper Alice had given him.

"Yes? Oh, for her? Here, I'll give it, it's better if you don't step in the room." She took it, crossing the room so quickly, her shows clicking sharper on these tiles.

"Luna, dear, a friend has a gift for you." She placed it gently on the open palm, a little splash of color in the moonlight room. Like a strange flower...

Luna. His tongue longed to taste the name, sound it, but he wouldn't break his silence. Luna.

It fit her, her pale colors. Luna in a moonlight room.

"It's time to go back to sleep, Theodore. I'm sorry. It's orders." She led him carefully by his shoulder and he counted the steps. Twenty-three. It was down twenty-three steps to room fifty-eight where Luna slept. The nurse had him lay down in his bed.

"I'm sorry..."

He was scared, now, of the needle, and he didn't want the darkness. He'd forget Luna and the twenty-three steps and next time he wouldn't have a helpful hint of a talkative nurse to tell him he'd forgotten, he was scared...

Alice was petting his hair.

"I wish there was another way..."

Darkness dragged him back, no longer comforting.

…ø…

"Luna, dear, a friend has a gift for you," the dandelion said as she blew on it. It had a motherly voice. She looked up, and smiled at the daffodil growing in the shade of the willow.

Day 27

"-In my parent's room!"

"Quiet, Mister Longbottom, he's at the end-cycle, he could wake!"

"I don't care about his beauty sleep, that Death Eater's in my mother's room!"

"He was put here by the aurors, Mister Longbottom, he is constantly kept in a sleep-state, to be given progressively larger doses until he enters a permanently comatose state. It's humane, you see. And then his confiscated property officially passes into the Ministry's hands. He wouldn't have been anything once he got out of Azkaban, it saves us rehabilitation, lets him have permanent peace for the cost of six months supply of an experimental. Poor little boy..." A hand stroking his face.

"I don't ca-That's-" The man's voice faded out.

"Quiet down a moment, I think he might be waking..." A sting in his arm.

The darkness. He liked the darkness. It was like a mother...

_Month three - Day 11_

"I won't do it! I won't give him a next dose!"

"Quiet, we didn't have enough sleep potion for Mrs. Longbottom! Just give him the damn needle!" a woman's voice hissed.

"Why can't you just kill him! This is cruel!"

"Murder is cruel! It doesn't make sense to punish murder by murdering them! This IS humane! He gets to live out his life!"

"He doesn't even dream! He'll be surrounded by darkness and silence and absolutely nothing for the rest of his life! He'll be close to dead but he won't get to move on! This isn't humane, this is a dementor's kiss!"

A sharp sound. "I'll slap you again if you say that!"

He was scared, what was going on, was this Azkaban? Was this hell? Where was he? Who was he, he couldn't remember, what had he done to deserve this...

He remembered a woman with a youthful face, she was so tall, everyone was so tall then, she had a sad smile... He followed her around...

She died, he suddenly remembered. Her name was Mother, and she died because of him.

Something stung his arm. It hurt...

Day 18

"Careful... He's only been awake twice in the last three months, he's fragile."

"Can't believe they'd do that to anyone... And she thought it was humane!"

"Thanks, Neville. For telling us."

"You're welcome, Harry. I did it for Mum, though."

"Would any of you like a photo? I can sign it in joined-writing!"

"No thanks, Professor Lockhart."

"Oh, professor! Was I a professor?"

People talking so loudly, he didn't recognize their voices, and he could hear the voices in one ear but not the other. He tried to open his eyes, they were so heavy.

The ceiling was sunshine yellow, cracked, yellow painted into those lines to try to hide them. The walls were pink. Blurry photos, all of the same blond man.

Where was he? This wasn't home. Had he done something wrong, had Father put him here? Was he going to die? Was he already dead? He sat up, looking around.

"Hello, Theodore," a middle-aged woman said. "Do you know where you are?"

He stared at her, wide eyes. Don't talk to anyone, his father always said. But he shook his head slightly.

"D you remember who you are?"

He remembered that Mother died a few months ago, and it was his fault and Father was punishing him for it but that didn't seem right because his limbs were too long and his hair was too long and he could feel scars he didn't have before. Time had moved but he couldn't remember.

He shook his head. He didn't know who he was, then...

"Do you know your name?"

He paused, and gave one nod.

"Well that's good. You should remember most of everything eventually. You can get up whenever you're ready." The woman paused and then kissed his forehead. Motherly. He lay back down and rolled, turning his back.

There was a little portrait of Mother, it was still, he could sort of see it. Her eyes permanently fixed on him, a little frown on her face. Why was she still? Why did she frown? People walking past his bed, talking, clicking shoes and the ticking clock blurring.

He finally sat up. Most of the people were gone.

"It was your birthday yesterday. You're twenty-one now, Theodore."

A door opened. A man, sandy hair, healer apprentice tunic in blue. "Is he - oh, he's up."

"Yes, Seamus. Theodore is up. Theodore, this is Seamus, he's an apprentice healer, I'm the healer he's shadowing. We're not nurses, contrary to what people say."

He said nothing, standing on shaky legs. They slid from under him, and his knees met the dark blue tile. He forced himself up again. Never show weakness. He crossed all the way to the door, but Seamus closed it.

"Seamus, could you take him on a walk around the hospital? Just make sure he doesn't walk into anything important, that's all."

"Are-Are you su-"

"Let me know where he goes."

"Alright..." The glass door opened and Theodore stepped into the hall, cold beige tile under his feet. The hall dead-ended on one side, he walked the other. His feet seemed to know where to go, though his mind was examining the hospital, the harsh lighting and cold.

There was a sign. He stopped and read it, 'Mental Ward.' Mental Ward - but that was for crazy people, was it? Was he crazy? He didn't feel crazy, was lost memory crazy or did he do something crazy and lose it? He wasn't crazy... He walked away from the sign quickly.

He counted the number of steps he went down, he wasn't sure why. There was twenty-three, spelled for grip and worn in the center where everyone had stepped. He walked down a hall, looking at closed doors and stopping. Fifty-eight felt special. He opened it.

There was a young woman on a bed, late afternoon sunlight spilling over her. Her skin was pale, her tangled hair white-blond, her lips a light pink. Her skin was stretched over her frame, her chest barely rose and fell, the sheets completely unrumpled and tucked in. Flowers on the bedside tables, a teddy, a sweet wrapper.

She was beautiful. He wanted to go to her, hold the hand lying free on the bed, kiss her and see if she'd wake...

"That's Luna's room, you can't go- Hey!"

Luna. He wanted to say her name and see how it sounded echoing back to his ear. But his tongue wouldn't work and his lips stayed pressed together, and all he could make himself do was cross the room and collapse on the floor by her bed, cheek against the side, staring at the shape of her jaw, trying to memorize it.

Seamus hauled him up. "Don't EVER come in here again! She was attacked and she hasn't woken up! She doesn't need strange men in her room!" Anger, sharp and burning as it flew from his tongue. Theodore turned around and left.

…ø…

"Don't EVER come in here again!" the willow snapped as she picked the daffodil, stroked its cream-colored petals. She apologized and turned to leave for Hogsmead, walking a bit before the willow's anger left her mind and she skipped. Leaves crackled under her feet.

Day 24

She handed him a box. "I got you a pair of shoes, Theodore. They're muggle, but we can't afford fancy. Let me know if you need help with the laces.

The box said trainers. Training for what? He opened it and pulled out black shoes of strange materials, long laces.

It took him a moment to figure out how to get them on - loosen the laces, lift the tongue and wedge your foot in. He stared at the laces a moment. He didn't know how to tie laces but there were lots of things she said he could do if he didn't think about them. He picked up the black strings, tugged on them, fingers hesitantly moving through strange motions. A loop in each hand.

He repeated on the other shoe, then stood up, the new feeling of the material, weight on his feet. He walked to the door and waited.

"Seamus isn't here today, Theodore. But I could get another nurse, if you'd like to break your shoes in." She was struggling to held Alice eat. "As soon as Alice is done."

Theodore didn't respond, he didn't usually. He stared at the dark blue tile and the black shoes, the colors nearly blending, leaning against the wall.

Then he sat by Alice, placing a hand on her shoulder. She calmed a little, her grip on her strange utensils steadier. Theodore could understand, something being wrong or not working and not being able to say, or think it, life was hard without words. His silence was voluntary, some distant thought telling him he'd break something precious if he spoke just yet, but sometimes the words that made his thoughts fled his mind, and he wouldn't be able to do anything, confused and frustrated and trying desperately to know the words so he could show something and he couldn't... Thinking in images, but images did nothing when they couldn't translate to his hands, to his fingers, to his feet.

When Alice was done, Theodore stood up again, leaning against the door as the healer sent down a message, "Can we get someone upstairs to take Theodore on his walk?"

Theodore smiled to himself. If Seamus wasn't here... He'd made Theodore steer clear of Luna's floor altogether, he'd seen most of the rest of the hospital. All the same, except the children's ward, and he wouldn't let him near that either.

This healer would be different, though... One who wouldn't know...

A nervous woman entered, "I-I'm here to take Theodore on his walk..." She sounded like she'd been given a death sentence.

"Right next to you, dear. More fanmail, Mister Lockhart."

The healer jumped, staring at Theodore with wide eyes.

"Oh, don't be scared, he's really such a dear, gentle as a newborn kitten."

Theodore pretended not to hear, but it didn't quite work, a bit of pink seeping into his cheeks.

"I-I-Are you sure?"

"Oh, just let him walk around, you just have to supervise."

The healer immediately scuttled out. Theodore stepped into the hall, heading right for the stairs. He counted them as he went down, still twenty-three stairs, and the sudden memory, walking longer, much fancier stairs, a patterned carpet that went down, Father had called him and he was in trouble, and trouble meant more training and new scars... His father wanted him to become something, something for a Lord of the dark...

Theodore had frozen, lingered on the step. The healer was stuttering something to him. He took one last step onto the landing, letting the end of the memory roll away to join his others, a new little piece of who he was. Memories did that, coming back to him through strange little triggers, vivid and taking over his senses, his mind. He walked down the hall to Luna's room, turning the knob.

She looked peaceful on her bed as always, he counted her breathing to the tick of the new clock on the wall, a strange fanciful thing, draped in vines and wood. Four ticks a breath. Fifteen slow ever-sleeping breaths.

"Th-that's Lovegood's room! You can't-" But the healer didn't move to stop him and he entered, shoes making a soft noise on the shining tile. He now noticed a chair against the wall, but ignored it, sitting on the floor.

Luna... Luna Lovegood... Such a beautiful name... He longed to break his silence and speak it, let it slide on his tongue like water, let his mind take flight with unfamiliar romantic notions and make poetry of its syllables and sounds... Instead, he smiled and took her hand, skin cool with slow-moving blood, fingers lax within his gentle grip. He imagined the things he wanted to say to her, pretty words and strange sentences and wishes and hopes that he was starting to think he had no right to.

But he held her hand. Her skin was soft and warmed in his hold, her nails untrimmed but frail, brittle.

To the tick of the clock and the rasp of her breathing, he let himself be whisked into hopes for a little while.

…ø…

Luna's hand was warm, the feeling almost like the sunlight was holding it. Running through a whole patch of seeding dandelions, she laughed and collapsed on her stomach, the soft little puffs clinging to her sundress. She began to blow the rest of the seeds away, watching them float on the autumn breeze. The last one flying away under her gaze, she looked up to see the last daffodil of summer, growing in the shadow of the meadow willow. Sun still holding her hand, she picked it.

_Month four - day 5_

He'd started having nightmares. Nightmares that only scared him when he woke up. People sobbing, begging him to spare them, spare someone else, but he didn't, sometimes even gleeful as he cut them down. Others, bloody and mutilated, tortured, crying out to be killed, and sometimes a strange laugh rising in his throat as he refused them that right, to mercy. And the faces blended together until they became faceless crowds shouting "Murderer, Death Eater," threatening him. Cursing him. So often, these faces would fade away to his father, looking sickly proud and he'd ache, heart in his throat with gladness to finally earn it, or there'd be a beast, a strange thing not quite human, greenish skin and no nose and red eyes and he'd be yearning even more for this monster to approve, and he could feel the blood drying on him...

Theodore woke up, gasping air, he could always pick out the bits of memory and bits of dreamscape, the memories were always more vivid, more lifelike. He pressed his face into his pillow and shook with fear and hatred of himself. But there was no night-healer right now, only someone who came around every few hours, and he couldn't wait that long. Theodore stood up, pulling on his shoes, quick motions now, standing at the door, trying and trying and trying the handle, to try to escape to Luna's room. He slumped against it soon, trembling, minutes stretching into miniature eternities until someone came by. "Do you need somethi-woah!" Theodore shot by him, stumbling down the stairs to the room, a distant memory of doing this before, he'd run to her room before, why...

She was a sleeping moon goddess at night, though the room was dark with the curtains over her windows. He collapsed on the floor next to her, wrapping her fingers around his hand, other settling over the back, stroking her skin.

He closed his eyes and let her touch calm him.

Hours might have passed, he paid no attention to the tick.

"See, I told you he'd be here... Come on, back to your room, Nott."

…ø…

A harsh grip, iron and steel, grabbed Luna's arm as she skipped onto the Hogsmead sidewalk, wrestling her wand from her and she heard it land down the alleyway, stones scratching her back as the man pressed her body to the wall with his, he smelled rancid and desperate and deathly, Death Eater mask. She opened her mouth to scream, she was so scared, a warm grip on her hand as something cracked against her skull-

Luna smiled down at the wild lilies, breeze blowing her hair. What to do next...

Warmth had just wrapped around her hand like the sunlight was holding it and she giggled, spinning in circles.

Day 17

They had begun letting him doing small tasks, watching coordination and memory and nodding approvingly as he sorted the stockroom by hand. It was clothes - hospital tunics, hospital gowns, hospital pants, healer uniforms, and always a small collection of muggle clothes, something to give to those who left who had none. He folded them, studying lines in things called jeans, the tough weave. Skirts. Blouses, long-sleeves, short summer-wear, a little collection of textures and colors buried among the stacks. If he messed up on sorting, they weren't too worried, so they let him loose in the room with the pile of laundry and left, coming back hours later when he'd done it all, perfect folds. He always did it perfect, and they'd smile and take him for his walk.

He didn't get to go to Luna's room. That was special, they said. A treat. But they wouldn't say how to earn it, just keep their secretive smiles. He took guesses - improvements they could see. They wanted him to speak, or interact with them, make eye-contact. Tell them what was going on in his head, what the experiment had done.

They would just have to accept his silence. He'd see Luna somehow.

He smuggled out a shirt, put it on under his hospital tunic and took it to his room, stashing it away. He thought it would be important.

_Month five - Day 14_

The nightmares didn't lessen but began to make more sense, pieces of memory now beginning to slip into place as he relived them. The nightmares didn't become easier, but at least they were explained. His father had been training him for the Death Eaters... An organization led by someone naming himself Lord Voldemort... He'd learned to be cruel or he would have gone crazy... Crazy...

He'd hurt and killed and tortured and always seeking the pride of his father and lord... And yet here he was in this hospital, being treated mostly human. They should have hated him... Didn't they understand... How could they override their own emotions, their memories, maybe even their own losses...

He didn't belong in this world where nothing made sense.

He'd stolen a pair of jeans. He knew he wanted to leave. But first, he wanted to do something for Luna...

They were painting the children's ward, cans of paint, brushes, obligatory drop-sheets though a quick spell could scrub up spills in an instant.

"I got some glow-in-the-dark, figure we could paint some little shapes, stars or something..."

Theodore stopped, listening, looking at the can. Something he could do...

"What? What does he want?"

"Think he wants some of the paint. You can tell him no..."

"No, it's all right... We can spare some..." The man popped open the can, pouring some into a tray and handing it to him with a brush. "Here."

Theodore smiled, nearly smirked at Seamus and immediately jogged up the steps, leaving him behind enough that he could step onto Luna's floor. Glowing paint...

Entering her room, he touched her hand a moment, counting her breaths. Still four a second, hadn't changed in his absence.

Glowing paint, like stars. Envisioning constellation maps he'd seen and drawn for school, he began carefully applying paint to the walls, different-sized dots.

The north star over her bed, he imagined, the south at the other end.

It wasn't long before he took the chair, painting on the ceiling, the casings of the light fixtures, it dried quickly. He kept getting down and moving the chair, a loud dragging noise, and the paint dripped a little, getting on his shoes and smearing into light green streaks. He drew the curtains and continued the stars, and slowly moved around the room, finally leaning over her bed to paint the stretch of wall and ceiling. Then he stepped down and admired his work, hearing returning to his ear. Seamus was whispering to someone.

A man, with grey-and-blond hair, frail. Theodore almost knew his name, almost...

"Done playing artist? Now we'll have to wash it off-"

"No," and even the man's voice was frail, heavy. This was her father, voice carved from the sadness of what his daughter had become. "I think she would like it. She likes stars."

Theodore squeezed her hand a moment as he followed Seamus down the hall. Light green bobbed on his shoes.

…ø…

She could hear Papa's voice on the wind, which was silly because he wasn't here, but nice all the same... Though it made her feel sad.

"A nice young man painted stars for you, Luna, I think you'd like them. Constellations, he even remembered the jabbersbee... People forget those little extra stars... Just because it's not an official constellation yet... Oh, my little Luna, I wish you would open your eyes and see this..."

"But my eyes are open, Papa... I'm not wherever you are..." She frowned, faltering in her skipping a moment, the crinkle of leaves gaining just a little gap in a break of rhythm. For a moment she thought she shouldn't go to Hogsmead, that she should stay and listen to Papa's voice a little longer, but then she sighed. But Papa wasn't here. This was a creature playing tricks, sad tricks. She began to skip again.

Day 23

And these little memories, of lifting his hands and a hex firing, of holding someone's eyes and entering their mind without a wand, were all Theodore needed.

He wanted to see what was in her mind, take her from the arms of Mother Darkness. He wondered what color her eyes were. They must have been beautiful...

Theodore tested his skills on objects first, in the sorting room where wandless magic wasn't negated to prevent accidents. He made the things fold themselves, fly to their proper shelves. A task done in seconds. He grinned, feeling a strength, a life, in his veins that had been missing, weak but it would grow strong with use. But it took not strength but grace to enter a mind without harming it. Picking the lock, not breaking it. That sounded so invasive, though... This was to help, not harm her.

This was something they were waiting for. The secretive smile was a wide grin. "You can visit Luna," the man said, entering the room minutes later. "But you must promise not use magic on other people, alright? Or bad things will happen."

Theodore lied and nodded. He would lie to anyone who treated him so condescendingly.

Luna's star-room was bright in grey winter light, the lights out to appreciate the soft glow. He sat on the cold tile, noticing someone had added to the tile, painted stars on the floor, her white sheets changed for dark blue patterned like an old-style astronomer's map. The room felt like a room now, somewhere where the living could exist, not just visit.

He tilted her head, hands settled gently on the sides of her head, eyes focused on her closed lips. This would be so much harder with her comatose, and yet easier...

His magic whirled inside him, eager for a way out, and he let it, forcing it to be slim, delicate, little threads to weave into the natural cracks of his mind, and he guided them to become part of what she saw, somewhere where she wouldn't see-

He was standing on forest fringes, a tall pine and oak with a little space between them to see through, looking over one of those little meadows outside Hogsmead, where the forest met the open and things had sprung up. There was a willow in this one. He had wandered it his first visit in third-year, no money and no wish for company, but not wanting to waste a chance to be free for a day. He'd never come back, the next time his father had sent meager pocket money, enough to buy a cheap new quill and a few candies. He'd forgotten...

Luna was running through a patch of dandelions with her arms out wide, head turned to the sky, laughing, sundress aflutter. Then she flopped down on her stomach, a sea of seeds rising on the wind.

There was something he was told as a child by his mother, dandelion time, the number of attempts it took to blow all the seeds off the dandelion was the time.

More seeds took flight. She had beautiful blue eyes. The breeze was light, rustling leaves turning colors with a coming autumn. In the shadows, the air was cool, a little crisp, but it must have been lovely in the sunshine.

She turned, making sure all the dandelion fuzz blew away and he looked at her hair spilling down her back, almost white, and it looked so soft, he wanted to touch it, run his hands through it, hold her so close their skin tried to melt together like wax. Instead, he watched. Her head tilted up, and he followed the line to a single almost-white daffodil growing in the shade of the willow tree. One so late in the year... A rarity...

She stood up, didn't even brush herself off as she skipped over and picked it, stem neatly breaking off. Then she looked down a little trail, and he held his breath, trying to creep after her as she began to skip down it. Didn't she ever walk? But it made her almost seem to float, her feet barely touched the ground. They touched down on leaves, trumpets of red and gold announcing her arrival on the ground, before she was off again. She was fast, the village of Hogsmead up ahead. More aware of his surroundings than a happy girl, he saw the man-

He was wearing a Death Eater's mask, whoever he was, and smelled like he'd been sleeping in garbage and stewing in desperation and insanity, and his hand shot out to grab her arm, yanking her into the alley. He followed, wide-eyed, watching her wand fly down it, most of the man and the refuse was blurry, because she hadn't seen much of it, the end of the alley fading into blackness. He pressed her to the wall with his body, obviously malicious intent, and as she opened her mouth to scream for help (He could see people, so close... Walking only a few streets away...), he cracked something sharply over her head. The object was a blur - she hadn't seen that either.

He was back in the meadow, watching her play. He felt sick, repeating the cycle, following her. He watched a few more times and finally couldn't take it, wrenching out his magic. He was in the room, hours had passed. Someone was trying to shake him awake.

"Oh, Theodore, you scared us!" The healer hugged him, taking a handkerchief from her pockets and wiping his cheeks. He realized he was crying and tried to stop, but couldn't.

Mister Lovegood was there. "Did you see? What does she see? Please..." His voice cracked. Theodore only looked at him, in pain, feeling sick, unable to find the words even if he would speak, to tell the horror Luna lived in... And each time unaware of what she was about to skip into...

An endless loop of hell. Dementors couldn't have done better... He had vague memories of dementors from third year...

Seamus seized his shoulders. "Answer him! Answer me!" He shook Theodore. "I didn't find her in Hogsmead for you to look at us like that! Answer me!" He began to cry. "Tell me she's happy..."

Mister Lovegood drew Seamus away. Theodore was taken back to the room. He couldn't... Couldn't do anything...

"I think there will be no more visits to Luna, Theodore," she said gently.

_Month six - Day 13_

He knew who he was.

He knew what he'd done.

He knew how he'd paid.

He knew how he first met Luna, twice, he remembered all the details of his teen years, he remembered magic and crushes and hopes and dreams and remembered the beast who broke everything he touched and how he had ruined a teen boy already a mess, Theodore knew everything he once knew - and more.

Like how the door was the only part of the room not spelled against wandless magic on the inside, a fail-safe in case something happened, so the people inside could get out.

Theodore woke early. Dressed in the stolen muggle shirt and jeans, a new addition of a thing called a sweatshirt, or whatever it had been called, warm and comfortable and hooded.

He waved goodbye to Alice as he put a note on his pillow.

_I know who I am. Thank you for helping me anyway. I know I can't access anything in my family name, I don't want it anyway. I leave it all to Lovegood._

And a flourishing signature. He knew how to do that again too.

Twenty-three plus fifty-eight was eighty-one. Divide by six, how many months he had been here was thirteen-point-five. Today was special, Noon was special.

He'd snuck into her room last week, held her hand to comfort her in her looping nightmare, kissed her forehead softly. Her skin was cool, a little dry, a few stray strands of her hair in his lips way. A little warmth for her cold existence.

Today, he picked a rose from the vase, magic changing its shape. The tough stem became a wooden handle, the soft petals became soft bristles and he began to brush out her hair. Gentle, untangling knots and sliding free broken strands. No matter the outcome, he wanted her to look her best.

The tick of the clock blurred, the hospital coming to life. It was the healer's day off, he picked this day specifically. Hair brushed, he gently placed his hands on her head, sinking back into her nightmare. He had one chance, he was sure.

He came through on the end of her nightmare loop, watching the man snatch her for whatever desires and cruelties his twisted mind had thought up. Theodore gritted his teeth, waiting for it to roll over.

He was back behind the trees. He stepped out as she stood up from weaving daisies into a crowd.

"Oh, hello!" She looked surprised, but smiled nicely. "I'm Luna! Are you lost?"

He wasn't truly here, so his voice didn't sound disused. It wasn't really a voice at all. "No. My name's Theodore."

"Would you like to play? I'm alone here, but I'd like to share! It's nice here!"

He would let it play out a little longer, enjoy this brief sunshine. He smiled. "Sure!" He took her offered hand and they ran through the dandelions, seeds sticking to clothes, sun warm on his skin, breeze cool and his fingers tangled with hers. Like she was his. He felt himself grin at her, and then she pulled them both into a spin and they dropped to the ground, staring at the dandelions remaining. She blew the seeds off. He gripped her hand a little tighter, watching her. Her eyes lit...

He had to get her to Hogwarts. That had been the point of her journey, and she hadn't completed it, stopped part-way by her attacker. When she looked up and spotted the daffodil, he stood with her, picking it and holding it out to her, watching her dainty fingers close around it. He let her lead him down the path, her skipping, him jogging to keep up.

Then when Hogsmead appeared close, he grabbed her, yanking her to the other side of the path, touching down on the other sidewalk. Across the street, the mask and the broad shoulders of the uniform watched them.

"He was waiting to attack you," Theodore said, looking down her, hoping she understood. "Do you remember?" he asked gently.

She looked at him, confused, then back at the man.

"Let's get you to Hogwarts..." The details of Hogsmead were perfect, but people were only grey blurs, she hadn't known who was walking the streets when or where, just that they were there. She began to look distressed.

"Close your eyes. I'll guide you," he promised. She swallowed, but obeyed, large eyes shut. Hands now resting on both her shoulders, he began to help her up the path the carriages followed. It was long, but time never passed, the sun hung in the same position in the sky. Under his hands, he felt the texture of her sundress, soft flowing material, the stones smooth and bumpy under his feet, and the breeze was still blowing like in the meadow.

"I-I remember," she said suddenly. "I was playing with the meadow and realized it was time to go... He attacked me... I was so scared..."

"Shhh... It's over, Luna... It's been over for years... You're almost home..." Whether home was awake or- Or something else...

The gates were open, when they finally got to the top. "Open your eyes..."

She did and smiled, arms flinging around him. "Thank you... For saving me... I hope I remember you..."

He hoped so too, but thought it more likely that...

That when she passed through the gates...

"You could die," he whispered. "If you pass through those gates..." He had taken her from Mother Darkness, only to gift her to Sister Death... (And how could Death be anything but a woman, a creature of crystal conflictions? Cruel and kind, hated and loved...)

"I could. But I could live! And I hope I remember you!"

"Seamus found you... In Hogsmead..." He felt the need to say it, ruin his chance... "He was the hero..."

She only smiled. His heart leapt into his throat, then slipped down into his stomach. He wanted to kiss her, but he knew he wouldn't feel anything. He didn't know what her lips felt like, and she wouldn't either, one didn't know what that felt like... So he kissed her forehead. "I love you..."

She grinned, blushing and skipped through the gate, and her comatose world dissolved.

He was sitting by her bed, crying slightly again. He didn't wait to see if her heartbeat ran out, he wanted to never know, to have hope. He kissed her hand, trying out the words with his real voice. It was rough, guttural, but the words rang clear in the little space. "I love you..."

He stood up, leaving quickly, drawing up the hood and taking the stairs down quickly, passing faceless people, and finally passed through into the crowds of muggles. He started to walk. He decided he would never stop walking. He would follow the streets of the muggle world and the coastlines of the natural and fade away, holding Daughter Hope.

* * *

That's the end. If you wish to keep it ambigous whether Luna remembers, just skip down to the review box, or press the back button (I would prefer a review...)

If not, there's a little more...

* * *

Luna woke up in a strange room, green dots on the ceiling. Someone had said they love her.

"Luna! My little Luna!" Papa's arms trying to hug her. "You've come back to us..."

She remembered being hit on the head, it had hurt, and she had been so scared...

But Papa had said he loved her and she had woken up. Papa had saved her. Her limbs were stiff, but she managed to twitch a few fingers around his arm in a little hug. "Thanks to you, Papa," she whispered.

There was a hairbrush on the bedside table. It looked like it had been a rose once. She smiled at it. Such a pretty thing... Something flitted through her mind as she looked at it, but it must have been a nargle. She didn't try to grab it.

* * *

The end. Please review and tell me what you think. I've never written something that was pretty much pure tragedy before...


End file.
